


Sick Day

by servantofclio



Series: Sewers to Stars [10]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, very light crossover elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April gets sick, but Donnie's always looking out for her. (pre-romance, adult Donnie and April)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Sewers to Stars universe, a crossover with Mass Effect, but the ME references here are slight. All you really need to know is that the story takes place in the year 2183, and April's a research scientist who recently returned from a fellowship in London.

April is supposed to be heading down to the lair after work to watch movies and make cookies— because somehow they ate all the Christmas cookies already, even though it’s only December 30. She is supposed to be making her favorite ginger cookies and listening to the boys argue about what movie to watch and keeping an eye out to make sure no one slips into her favorite spot in the couch.

Instead, she has left work early, because her throat feels like it’s full of gravel and her nose won’t stop running and her sinuses are hot points of pressure all around her skull. She’s fairly sure she is radiating misery inadvertently, to judge from the silence of the subway car she took home. She drags herself up the two flights of stairs to her apartment with her head throbbing, and just has the presence of mind to send a message that she won’t be coming over after all before she burrows into her bed, hoping that sleep will make her feel better, or at least make her not feel anything for a while.

She’s not sure what wakes her, exactly, but when she comes awake she’s tangled in the covers, an arm and a leg hanging outside the blankets and much too cold, and the rest of her is much too warm, and she whines in a way that sounds pathetic even to herself as she tries to get untangled.

“April?” Suddenly large hands are there, untucking the blankets and smoothing them out, briefly resting against her forehead, a cool weight. “You’re burning up.” 

April cracks open a sticky-feeling eye and peers up at Donnie. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she mumbles.

“You know we’re not very susceptible to human viruses. And Mikey and Casey ganged up and insisted on watching Blasto again, and I’ve seen that more than enough times, thank you, especially with the two of them quoting all their favorite lines. Besides, you’re terrible at taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

April scrunches up her face, pulling her arms in under the blankets. “Am not.” It hurts to talk, and swallow.

“Did you even take any medicine before you crawled into bed?” Exasperation tinges Donnie’s voice.

“I’ll just sleep it off,” she says, and sniffs loudly.

Donnie sighs even more loudly and hands her a tissue. While she’s wiping her nose, he disappears, only to return with a glass of water. April takes it gratefully, but doesn’t get through half of it before Donnie’s hand is in her face, a collection of pills cupped in his massive palm. “For the fever and the congestion,” he says.

April grumbles but takes the pills. Her throat feels like ground glass as they go down. “Late twenty-second century, and we still haven’t managed to cure the common cold,” she says.

“You know viruses mutate too quickly for that,” Donnie says, perching on the edge of the bed. It’s enough weight to tip her toward him, and April doesn’t mind. She puts out one hand against his shell to steady herself; it’s comfortingly cool and solid. Donnie goes on without seeming to notice. “You might not even have the cold, per se; there are a lot of viruses that have similar symptoms.”

“Don’t care,” April mutters.

Donnie clicks his tongue at her. “Such a lack of scientific curiosity, Dr. O’Neil. I’m astonished.”

“Shut up,” she says, and swallows carefully. It might be starting to hurt a little less. Probably just placebo effect, though, since she only took the meds a few minutes ago. “You don’t have to stay, I know I’m a grump when I’m sick.”

Donnie chuckles. “You are, but someone’s got to take care of you.” He reaches back and smooths sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. His cool fingers feel good on her overheated skin.

April swallows again, this time against a lump that’s risen in her throat. She should have known he would come; he always used to, kind but insistent, just like now. Donnie’s always looked out for her, and how long did she take that for granted? How long did she just accept it as the way things were? But she shouldn’t read too much into it, either, no matter how much her foggy mind wants to.

Instead she says, “I got sick so much in London. I had bronchitis for months.”

“I know.” Donnie’s hand gently strokes her damp hair. “You didn’t talk about it a lot, but you never looked well on the vidscreen. I was worried about you.”

She had missed care like that, then; someone to come over and make sure she ate and drank and took her meds. Some of her colleagues had brought her soup and their favorite teas, but it wasn’t the same. “I worried when you got your head bashed in, too,” she says, and the words come out more biting than she meant. Donnie’s hand stops moving.

“I was fine,” he says.

“I missed you, though, I—” April rolls over onto her back, frustrated. Everything aches and her head feels too muddy to make her tangle of feelings clear. “I wished I could help you,” she says. “And I wished you were in London, too. I wished a lot of things.”

Donnie stands, looking down at her. “Me too,” he says, quietly enough that she might have imagined it, and then: “I should let you rest.”

“Nngh. I’m tired of being in bed,” April says.

Donnie chuckles, and just like that, the odd moment has passed. April’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Well, the meds are probably going to knock you out soon, but you can rest on the couch instead of the bed if you want.”

“We can have our own movie night,” she suggests.

“You definitely won’t last through a movie.”

“Know-it-all,” April grumbles, and throws off the covers. She ignores Donnie hovering as she drags her favorite blanket to the couch—she can walk just fine on her own, thank you—and tucks it around herself. “You sit, too.”

He snorts. “You’re so bossy. Tea first?”

“Yes,” she says, reaching for the remote.

Donnie brings her tea with ginger and honey, knowing exactly what she wants without asking. April takes the cup as he takes a seat next to her, close but not really close enough. He’s so cool compared to her that she finds herself leaning into him a little as the movie starts.

“What are you doing, April?”

“You’re cool, I’m hot,” she says. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to stay in bed,” he says. “I should have known you’d be stubborn.”

“Bed is boring,” she says. She’s always preferred to curl up on the couch with bad vids when she’s sick. Donnie’s right this time, though; twenty minutes in, she’s blinking heavily and having trouble tracking the action on the screen.

April doesn’t realize she’s asleep until she wakes up again, cradled carefully against Donnie’s chest as he takes her back to the bedroom. She makes an inarticulate noise of protest, which he ignores, settling her in the bed and proceeding to tuck the covers in around her. She untangles an arm and catches his wrist before he can move away. “I love you,” she blurts. Her voice seems weightless, too thin in the darkened room.

Donnie smooths over her hair again. “Love you, too, April. Get some sleep.”

She wants to say that’s not what she meant, or grind her teeth in frustration, but her eyelids feel too heavy and her mind feels too fuzzy, so she drifts into the soft dark cocoon of sleep instead.


End file.
